


Welcome To Your Brand New Life

by toofastandtoofurious



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Booker's wife is both an angel and a menace, Deaf Character, Everyone is Deaf, F/F, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Booker, Nonbinary Character, maaaybe a slight hint at Booker's very confusing feelings? maybe? you'll never know, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27560980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toofastandtoofurious/pseuds/toofastandtoofurious
Summary: The exam season is hard not just for the students, Booker thinks, as he puts on his favorite wool trousers and carefully tucks his shirt in. No one likes sitting exams. Well, maybe that bastard Hardy does but he’s a known prick, and if Booker could never see a scared expression on another undergrad’s face again as Hardy gleefully stomps them to the ground with questions, he would be happy. It would also mean that he’d never have to fight with Hardy about accessibility, which has its downsides, but he’ll live. Booker puts on his vest, carefully buttons it down, tries to smooth the invisible wrinkles on his chest. He lets the comforting feeling of wool sink into his fingertips. He feels sick. If his students have nervous butterflies in their stomachs when they see him, then his own stomach lining is being eaten by poisonous ants.OREveryone Is Deaf!AU we deserve and Booker's identity crisis.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf & Nicky | Nicolò & Quynh, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Booker | Sebastien le Livre's Wife, F!OC/F!OC, but in the past - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	Welcome To Your Brand New Life

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from "Riverman" by Lydia. I wrote an extremely niche story for a Deaf!AU that lives in my head rent-free because I needed it to exist. So here it is.  
> All signing is done in italics, spoken speech - in a regular font. Booker's ex is Hearing but can sign, all signing is spoken in BSL.

The exam season is hard not just for the students, Booker thinks, as he puts on his favorite wool trousers and carefully tucks his shirt in. No one likes sitting exams. Well, maybe that bastard Hardy does but he’s a known prick, and if Booker could never see a scared expression on another undergrad’s face again as Hardy gleefully stomps them to the ground with questions, he would be happy. It would also mean that he’d never have to fight with Hardy about accessibility, which has its downsides, but he’ll live. Booker puts on his vest, carefully buttons it down, tries to smooth the invisible wrinkles on his chest. He lets the comforting feeling of wool sink into his fingertips. He feels sick to his stomach. 5 more exams, 3 more meetings with his postgrad students, and then he’ll go on a winter break, hole in at Annabelle and Rebecca’s apartment that used to be his for a day or two, and it will get easier, he’ll breathe easier. He’ll see his kids and give Nicky the softest hoodie he managed to find, get drunk on mulled wine with everyone at the table, and Rebecca will put chocolate gold coins in everyone’s stockings. She and Joe will complain about the inescapable Christmas, Quynh will offer to fight the Pope, Andy’s placating hand on her shoulder, Nicky’s laughing hands everywhere, and everything will be right in the world. He puts on his suit jacket, pushes his hair back, and looks in the mirror. If his students have nervous butterflies in their stomachs when they see him, then his own stomach lining is being eaten by poisonous ants.

***

The universe is not on Booker’s side, he’s decided. He’s in his ex-wife Annabelle and her wife Rebecca’s kitchen, a glass of wine that Andy has helpfully poured, in his hand, he’s surrounded by his best friends after a truly trying day, and he wants to escape. Annabelle is _excited_ , and an excited Belle means trouble, often at Booker’s expense. He learned that lesson when he was three, so he tries to think of numerous ways to get out of what he knows is coming before she even speaks.

“ _Listen, Book, it’s time you maybe start dipping your toes into dating again. I’m not gonna push you, just saying, it might be good for you, going on a couple of dates here and there, you might find someone. You haven’t dated anyone in...well...forever_ _!_ ” - she signs with her hands flying around like little omens of mass destruction. His ex-wife is one of the smartest women he knows and wishes him well, but Booker can’t help but burrow into the sofa as far as the soft plushy material will let him. Andy silently laughs at his misery, her shoulders shaking, and he flips her off. She signs something in Russian so quickly he can’t comprehend it, but it’s probably an insult, so Booker isn’t too worried about it.

“ _Belle, I’m just too old for dating apps, they’re horrifying. All those people are all, what, 10 years younger than me? Who’d want to swipe on a 37 year-old professor with a receding hairline? Or, or_ _, Belle, I might find fucking Hardy there, and I just won’t ever recover from that, I swear to fucking god_.”

The thing is, Booker’s tried it before, he even downloaded Tinder once, looked at the profile setup instructions, the whole name-gender-bio-picture, and felt his stomach drop. He didn’t even know what to write, his fingers hovering over the empty text fields and his anxiety rising until it was almost choking him. Maybe this is how show dogs feel, he thinks, being perceived for their looks, carefully assessed and groomed to appear perfect, not a stray hair in sight. He deleted Tinder immediately and decided to never try again. So no, he loves Annabelle, he really does, but his best friend sometimes comes up with truly horrifying ideas, he’d be terrible at it, far from Best In Show.

“ _It feels like window_ _shopping_ , - Booker adds helplessly, - _and I just don’t meet people like that_.” - Andy snorts at that, not a sound she makes frequently but one he both loves and fears. Today he fears it more than loves.

“ _That’s because you don’t meet people, Book. When was the last time you met someone new?_ ”

“ _I met Nile last year, she’s new_ _!_ ”

“ _Nile is basically your sister and you met through uni, doesn’t count”, - Andy signs dismissively. - “we can organize a blind date with someone we know, though. __I know someone you might like._ ”

Annabelle and Rebecca look curious but Booker is suspicious. He is so suspicious, in fact, that there will be a little Booker-shaped dent in Annabelle’s couch, and there’s no way in hell he’s buying her a new one. It’s  h er fault after all.

Andy fumbles with her phone, no doubt to check her calendar or text Quynh, scratches her chin in a way that should really worry him, and shows him a picture of someone he vaguely remembers meeting last year at a New Year party. He lets the image peacefully wash over him. What he remembers of this person is a friendly enough conversation they briefly had when he was getting more drinks for Joe and Nicky, but none of this matters. He’s not going to go on dates and he’s not going to put himself out there for somebody he met once at a party full of Joe’s BSL students, in a questionable state of sobriety. 

Andy pulls him out of his thoughts by punching him into his arm. She laughs, and he must look truly lost because Belle gently says in French,  _“_ Oh, my love,  it’s truly that bad _”_ and shakes her head.  He has no idea what it means.

“ _Earth to Booker._ _Are you free, say...this Saturday?_ ”

“ _No, Andy. Exams._ ” - he tries to look guilty but can’t help his mouth twitching just a little but. He knows he won’t get away with it, though, Andy is a hawk. She undoubtedly sees through his bullshit and presses on.

“ _Okay, this Thursday, I know you don’t have any exams for a fact, you’ve shown me your schedule yourself_ _._ ”

“ _You’re right and you’re wrong, I don’t have any exams but I do have my postgrad student for the office hours, and then Joe and Nicky are coming over, I’m teaching them to bake scones. __Sorry, I don’t think this is gonna work._ ”

He thinks maybe that’s gonna be enough for this conversation this time, maybe he’s gonna get away with it this time, but Annabel l e knows something he doesn’t because her eyes are fever bright, the light dancing in them.  W hen she turns to him, Booker knows he’s fucked.

“ _Wait, wait, what about next Saturday? We’re driving to your mom’s only on Sunday, and next Friday is the last day before winter break, you should have time_.”

Booker hates that she’s right.  He should, but seeing his parents, especially after the divorce, is not the most ideal winter break activity he can think of, and with each year it’s getting worse.  Cold stares, passive-aggressive comments, they make sure that Rebecca never truly feels at home there, so no one from his little family does. His kids look progressively more and more uncomfortable there, too, and that just won’t do. Booker feels that maybe this year  will be the year he breaks and yells at his Dad,  pick up  their brilliant, wonderful kids  who are way too old for his liking now , Rebecca, and Annabelle,  packs  their shit, and leaves with them in the middle of the dinner  like he’s always wanted to. His friends, his family must see it on his face, so when Annabelle launches into a rant about another male-directed movie she had to review for work, Andy doesn’t bring the dating question up for the rest of the night.

***

The truth is, Booker used to feel comfortable in his own skin. Before his and Belle’s divorce, they used to spend many nights laughing over some stupid TV show, lounging on their bed in breathable skirts or soft robes. It was so easy to laugh when she was doing his eyeshadow and begging him not to make funny faces, because “Basti, I swear to god, if I botch your wing, I’m never doing this again.” Of course she did it again and again, and again, and she still does, a drink in her hand and her beautiful wife by her side, most times when he comes over. He knows the way to the flat by heart, even tired or sleepy, or tipsy, or crushed by the weight of something immeasurable in his chest and throat. He calls her, asks to come over when it gets too much or when he knows only she will truly get him, and more often than not she says, “of course”. He still finds her, and she’s always there, waiting for him with a meal and a hug, and something you can only have with someone you’ve known since before you could talk, with someone you’d known before you knew yourself. Booker’s so happy for her, so goddamn happy, so why can’t he just exist with that ease again on his own? 

He doesn’t know how to answer his own question, doesn’t know where to look for answers, so he throws himself into work. He wakes up every day post-winter break and reads lectures, comforts his postgrads who look like they’re gonna pass out, fights with Hardy so that he puts the damn captions on his videos, and the state of unease never  truly  leaves him. He wraps himself in the warmest and softest wool suits, he tries to find comfort in tweed,  in Nicky’s cooking, in sharing earbuds with Nile when they share a seat on a tram together, having lucked out on being deaf on different ears, and still, s omething in him feels almost restless and aching, longing for something  he doesn’t have a name for. He hasn’t felt truly at peace for months, possibly longer than he’s willing to admit, so when he calls Annabelle, his life-long confidant, and she orders him to come and stay over for a few days, he feels like a lost dog coming home.

When Annabelle opens the door, Booker finds himself breathing a little easier. Becca has apparently gone to Glasgow for a solid week for a teaching workshop, and she’ll maybe skype with them in a few days; their youngest kid is at a friend’s house probably playing video games until they both pass out. He’s expected, not just welcome, to stay, Annabelle says, and throws Booker his old household skirt covered in little palm trees and a sweater of questionable origin. It might have been his or Belle’s, he’s not sure, but he changes as Annabelle gleefully uncorks a bottle of wine, mischief lighting up her features, and feels a little more at home.

They drink and they talk.  Booker rarely uses his voice with friends these days, he signs as much as he can, but he enjoys the familiar roll and rumble of French when he sits with his Belle in their warmly-lit kitchen. Booker rants about the university’s push and pull with accessibility,  _fucking Hardy, again,_ and Annabelle helpfully offers at least 25 ways to deal with the man, most of which are probably illegal, and that’s why he loves her. She has zero fucks to give, just gets more fierce after the second glass of wine, as she goes off to tell him about that movie critic award she didn’t get and about historically inaccurate fashion in period dramas  she’s recently watched , and how  worried she is for their  youngest kid  who  is drowning in homework and exam prep, and university anxiety, and “Basti, you’d think they should have it easier than we did, but  somehow it feels worse every year”. Booker knows. 

He tells her about his unease, how suffocated he feels, feeling too big and too small for his body at the same time, and she doesn’t have to ask him what he means. Annabelle knows him better than he knows himself.  She touches his hand as he stumbles through words and he hopes, oh so hopes that even a part of it makes sense to her.

He kisses her hand, the mother of his children, the best fucking person he’ s ever met, the only person he could ever imagine sharing everything with , and tugs her into a hug.  She falls into his chest with a giggle and her  wild curly  hair is everywhere, soft and familiar.  He doesn’t know how long they spend wrapped around each other and he truly doesn’t care. He kisses her cheek and Annabelle gives him a peck on the lips as she leans back with a look that usually means trouble and usually the best kind.

“So, what would you say if I did your make up tonight, _mon cher?” -_ he laughs and nods as she wiggles her eyebrows, looking the same way she did when they were seven, and it feels easy, so easy that he doesn’t notice he’s being led to her bedroom until his knees hit the bed. He sees Annabelle with a make up bag and an eyeshadow palette in hand, his university sweatshirt hanging loosely around her shoulders. Booker feels on the verge of _something_ and he wants to chase it.

Annabelle touches his face like she’s done countless times before, with a look of careful concentration. She lets him choose the colours  and he gives her ideas, but she is a master at work and shall not be distracted.  She has a vision. Booker knows whatever she comes up with will look good so he relaxes under her touch and lets himself float as she puts the eyeshadow on. She keeps telling him how pretty, no, how  _beautiful_ , how striking and soft he looks, and he just can’t stop smiling,  can’t stop feeling giddy and drunk, and  light as his old skirt pools around his legs and his best friend  p uts some finishing touches of mascara and lipstick on his face. 

“Ta da!” - she exclaims, and Booker feels like they are children and everything is possible. Annabelle gives him a small handheld mirror he remembers buying for her as a birthday present to examine her work, and _oh_. Something clicks for him right then, and when he looks at his reflection, eyes glimmering with sparkles and colour, his stomach doesn’t drop, doesn’t feel coated with thick acid, and it means _something_. Annabelle’s eyes are soft and when she asks him, “Better?”, all he can do is nod and chase the lightness in his chest that he still doesn’t know how to name but allows himself to drown in.

In the morning Belle will help him piece it together and will hold him through reliving  at least  the last 30 years of his life through a new lens,  he will let the stumbling and still foreign English “they” roll of his tongue  just to try it out as he’ ll truly look at himself for the first time  in decades , and  he’ll find that he doesn’t hate it . Annabelle  will push their hair back with her gentle hands and say  so quietly they’ll barely hear her :

“Here, Basti, here you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my absolute best friend V with whom I co-parent this AU and maybe one day there will be more. Let me know what you think!


End file.
